Wasted Days, And Sleepless Nights (Johnlock)
by UpAllNightForLoki
Summary: Devastating, is it not? Losing the one person you ever cared about. The one who you confided in, even with his sentiment, somehow you knew deep down that the consulting detective and high-functioning sociopath cared. He had only wished he'd said how he truly felt. (Longer description in another chapter)
1. Summary

_**Devastating, is it not? Losing the one person you ever cared about. The one who you confided in, even with his sentiment, somehow you knew deep down that the consulting detective and high-functioning sociopath cared.**_

_**He had only wished he'd said how he truly felt.**_

_**Two years after the loss of his best friend Sherlock, Dr John Watson is still trying to settle in to the absence of the once consulting detective. However, lurking in the shadows, is the last person John had ever expected.**_

_**Sherlock.**_

_**With his return to 221B Baker Street, John is beside himself, yet utterly relieved to have his detective back. Yet something still lingers around in his mind, his feelings, yes, feelings for the one and only Sherlock Holmes. While he attempts to confess, John feels it is best to not say a word as he knows, the detective is only married to his work.**_

_**However, Sherlock hides a great secret, something John would never suspect. It isn't until one fateful night during a trip, that things change. But do they change for the better or for the worst?**_

_**A simple tale of hidden feelings, mystery, betrayal and most of all...love. Because nothing is as it seems. With great sacrifice, comes great responsibility.**_

**- Post Reichenbach**

**- Does not follow the storyline in series 3 as I've only just seen episode 1 of series 3**

**- Fluff**

**- Light smut**

**- May have a more detailed smut chapter which I might just make separately for those who don't mind it so it's not an inconvenience to those who don't like heavy smut**

**- Possible heart breaking moments**

**- Possible immature moments**

**- Possible comedic moments**

**- Title inspired from the song "Is This Love?" by Whitesnake, I absolutely adore the band, plus I think it relates to John a lot, wasting his days away in the flat because he can't face the public and sleepless nights because all he thinks about is Sherlock.**

**Lastly, enjoy, if you're a Johnlock shipper, I'm sure you'll love this.**


	2. Prologue - Everybody Needs Some Time

**_"Would you have me. False to my nature? Rather say I play. The man I am." ~ Caius Martius Coriolanus_**

_Rain; rhymes with pain._

_Pain; in an unpleasant feeling, often caused by intense or damaging stimuli. Such as a burn, a cut, breaking a bone._

Yet there is no greater pain, than a broken heart. This, broken heart belonged to John Watson, an army doctor and once loyal friend to the high-functioning sociopath by the name of, Sherlock Holmes. It had been two years since the doctor saw Sherlock, his best friend, leap to his death atop the roof of St. Barts. John remembers it as if it were yesterday, it felt like yesterday. Sherlock had left him a note, on his phone, John heard every word, the words that pained him each and every day.

_"I'm a fake,"_

He hadn't touched anything of Sherlock's ever since that day, and still found it in himself to stay at 221B Baker Street. Every day, John would visit Sherlock's grave. Once in the morning, once in the evening, just before the sun set. As he stood in front of it, a single tear fell down his cheek.

"Please, stop being dead," he pleaded.

John placed the flowers by the grave, running his hands over the engraving of Sherlock's name, more tears threatening to spill from his already glassy eyes.

"Everything's a mess Sherlock. I haven't slept for three days straight, I hardly leave the flat, my eating habits are different. God I just...I miss you Sherlock," he wavered, dropping his hand to his knee.

It was true, since John had lost his best friend, his world around him had crashed, every wall he had up crumbled. On a few occasions, John had considered just being dead himself, yet he knew Sherlock would absolutely detest the thought.

"I wish I could tell you how I feel," John mumbled before standing up.

He wiped the stray tears away from his eyes, looking at the grave one last time.

"I'll see you again tomorrow morning. Goodbye, Sherlock," John whispered, before turning away as he trudged through the grass, leaving the cemetery.

Meanwhile, from afar, Sherlock stood behind a tree, listening to every little thing that the doctor had said. He wished he could be there to comfort him, yet now, not until Moriarty's men were all cleared out. The wind gently brushed his curls over his eyes as he watched John walk down the street, alone...when it should be the pair of them.

During his time away, Sherlock had thought a lot, about everything, about John. He'd started becoming slightly human like, losing a little bit of his sentiment. Yet the consulting detective never seemed to mind. He'd always had a soft, caring side about him, but only for John. As he walked over to his own grave, he scooped up the flowers, grinning softly before turning in the opposite direction in where John had left.

"Forgive me John, but I will return. Very soon. And I shall not rest until I am there," Sherlock whispered.

It seems, things were going to change, drastically.

**Fairly short prologue, I tend to keep most of them short.** **Enjoy.**


	3. Chapter 1 - How I Wish You Were Here

**"Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none." - William Shakespeare**

* * *

John woke the next morning, feeling the same as usual, empty. He shuffled into the kitchen as he started to make some tea. It hadn't occurred to him until he was pouring the tea, that he'd made the mistake of getting out two cups and not one. Rage ripped through him as he battered one of the cups with his hand, sending it flying to the floor as he gripped onto the counter, tears brimming in his tired eyes.

"Dammit Sherlock," he whispered. "Why did you have to do this to me?" he continued.

The broken doctor couldn't take it any longer. He let the tears take over as he sunk to the kitchen floor, bringing his knees to his chest. The tears fell heavily as John let out a shuddered gasp. He missed everything about Sherlock. Everywhere he went, he saw him, everything he touched, reminded him of Sherlock, everything John thought, it was always, Sherlock. What John missed the most was his violin playing.

As much as it drove him up the bloody wall when Sherlock played early into the morning, it helped him relax. There were many things John missed, he only wished everything was a dream and Sherlock was right there with him, doing one of his ridiculous experiments and asking for John's help when he needed it.

"John?" a voice called.

John looked up as Mrs Hudson appeared in the kitchen, her eyes wandering to the shattered cup.

"Oh love, what happened?" she questioned.

"Nothing Mrs Hudson, I just, I dropped it, sorry," John apologetically replied.

Mrs Hudson looked at him sympathetically before walking over to clean up the mess .

"I'll get it," John offered.

"No dear, it's quite alright, you fix yourself another cuppa and I'll get this cleaned up," she replied.

"Thank you," John whispered, grabbing the tea he had made in the first cup.

He walked into the sitting room, placing himself in his chair as he let out a pained groan at his leg.

"Bloody leg playing up again," he grumbled.

His limp was slowly starting to come back, angering John as he knew it went away in the first place because of...

"Sherlock," he whispered, resting his hand over his mouth.

John's eyes glazed over as more tears made their way down his face. He was very much over the tears, but any thought of Sherlock set them off again. Mrs Hudson stood behind his chair as she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You'll be back on your feet in no time," Mrs Hudson soothed.

"If only," John sighed, wiping tears away.

It is said to be true, people can die from a broken heart from any sort of trauma. John sometimes wished it would happen to him, but he always put on a brave face, just for Sherlock.

"Are you going to visit Sherlock today?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Of course I am, I always bloody visit him," John snapped, before turning to Mrs Hudson and cringing slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's alright love, let me know when you're heading out, I'll give you a few flowers to put at his grave for me," she responded.

John nodded slowly as he turned to smile softly at Mrs Hudson before turning back and flicking the telly on. His eyes were fixated on the telly, his mind still resting on Sherlock as John tried to push it away. As he watched the telly, the news came on, the usual nonsense. He took a sip of his tea, his eyes suddenly widening as he spluttered the tea everywhere. John could have sworn out the corner of his eye he saw the familiar Belstaff coat his best friend always wore.

"God John, you're going mad," he wavered, turning the telly off.

He gave out a prolonged sigh as he grabbed the book he had recently been reading and opened to the page he had gotten to. About halfway through, every character name started to show up saying 'Sherlock,' a groan leaving John's lips.

**'Sherlock  
Sherlock  
Sherlock'**

" Oh you cock!" John yelled, throwing the heavy book as it flew across the room.

John heard a crash then a cracking sound as he looked up from his hands, glancing across the room. His jaw dropped as he stared at Sherlock's violin which now lay on the floor, the body of it now displaying a huge crack on the surface.

No, oh god no," John whispered as he stood up.

He ran over to the window as he picked the instrument up and examined it. It was well and truly...

"Buggered," John sighed with aggravation.

John sat the violin down as he lent against the window frame, his leg causing him pain once again.

"Bloody leg," he cursed, his eyes creasing in pain.

He sighed as he looked back at the violin, shaking his head.

"I am so, so sorry Sherlock," he whispered, looking out the window.

He looked over the road, furrowing his eyebrows as he saw a figure standing with a cigarette, a Belstaff coat wrapped around them self.

"Sherlock," John mumbled. "No, stop it John, he's not here anymore!" he yelled, looking away from the window.

When John had looked back, the vision of Sherlock was gone. John sighed again as he moved away from the window and sat back down in his chair, resting his head in his hand.

"John," Mrs Hudson's voice called again.

"Yes Mrs Hudson?" he replied half-heartedly.

"Would you like to pop down to the shops with me?" she asked.

John looked over at the door, seeing his land lady standing there in her coat.

"Mrs Hudson, you know I-I can't," he whispered.

"Please John, I've got a lot to carry, I'll need another pair of hands," she pleaded.

John furrowed his eyebrows, his hand resting on his chest. He felt guilty that he never helped her with anything, she was partly like a mother to the broken and grieving doctor. John sighed before standing up from his chair. He knew one day he had to get out of the flat and face the music someday.

"Alright, let me grab a quick shower and I'll be down in about five?" John answered

"Good on you love," Mrs Hudson assured him with a small smile before going back downstairs.

John climbed the stairs to the bathroom as he looked into the mirror. God he looked awful. His eyes didn't look lively anymore, not ever since he lost Sherlock. He gave out a heavy sigh as he turned around and closed the door.

"Time to face it all," he mumbled.

Little did John know, a huge surprise was waiting for him, one that would surely rock his world.

* * *

"Mrs Hudson we forgot to bring those flowers to put at Sherlock's grave," John muttered.

Sherlock stood behind an aisle in the supermarket, his eyes locked on John to catch his every move.

"Oh no, and they were lovely ones at that," Mrs Hudson tutted.

The consulting detective grinned as he moved his scarf up over his nose, tipping his collar up as he tried to hide himself a little more.

"Sherlock would have hated them, remember when you bought some of those ones for his birthday and he burnt them?" John questioned with a chuckle.

Sherlock smirked as he moved into the aisle where John was, pretending to look at things on the shelves.

"Oh yes," Mrs Hudson chortled. "But we loved him none the less," she added.

John's eyes flickered with pain, it did not go unnoticed by Sherlock who was hiding his face behind a loaf of bread.

"Yes, always," John whispered, putting some things into the trolley.

It had upset Sherlock slightly that he had done this to John. Everything about John was different. He noticed the dark circles under the doctors eyes, the looseness of his sweater on his body and of course, the limp, it was back.

"Oh I am so sorry John," he mumbled, looking away.

Soon he was following them again as Mrs Hudson walked off to gather a few things while John went for the other half. He was having trouble reaching something, yet Sherlock knew he couldn't give himself away, but he couldn't watch John struggle. Sherlock moved in quickly as he grabbed the can, handing it to John, their hands brushing ever so slightly. John looked up with a small smile on his face.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"You're welcome John," Sherlock replied, before realising his mistake, his eyes widening slightly.

"Oh not again," John sighed with hurt in his voice.

"It's all in your head John," the detective lied.

John's eyes glazed over again, Sherlock's chest tightening at the sight of him. He'd never seen John so fragile in the time he'd spent with him.

"Why are you doing this to me Sherlock?" he sobbed.

"John..." Sherlock paused, wiping a tear from John's face as he flinched, his eyes locking with Sherlock's again. "I'm sorry," he added, before he turned and walked away, leaving John behind as he dashed out of the supermarket.

He took off down an alleyway as Mycroft stood at the other end, umbrella in hand as it started to pour down with rain.

"Well, how did it go?" he asked questioningly.

"Horrible. I gave myself up to John but I told him it was all in his head. He started to cry again Mycroft, I can't keep up with all this pain I am causing him," Sherlock explained, leaning against the brick wall.

Mycroft knew damn well that Sherlock's sentiment had broken down because of John. Yet he knew all along as soon as he knew about John, that things would begin to kindle.

"I have some rather good news for you," he finally spoke.

Sherlock looked up from his hands, furrowing his brow at his brother.

"What is it?" the detective asked.

"The last of Moriarty's men has been dealt with, meaning..." Mycroft paused, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"I can go back to John?" Sherlock replied with a low whisper.

"Exactly, might I suggest after we've gotten everything sorted back at the house, I will let you go see John," Mycroft replied.

Sherlock clapped his hands together, closing his eyes as a lopsided smile spread across his face.

"Oh, it's like Christmas," he murmured.

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes at his brother's statement, opening the door to the car.

"Shall we?" he questioned, looking back at Sherlock.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock replied, pushing himself off the wall.

Sherlock and Mycroft entered the car before it went into motion, disappearing down the road. Sherlock had so much to think about. How will he return to John?

* * *

"Sherlock, I keep seeing you everywhere now. You even talked to me at one point, in the supermarket, it was strange," John spoke as he sat in front of his best friend's grave for the second time today.

He had a tin of biscuits in his hand, not knowing why he brought them, but they were a sort of comfort food for him.

"If you were here you'd probably call me a mad bastard," he chuckled, playing with some strands of grass.

John sighed briefly as he looked at Sherlock's grave. He had kept in the tears this time and he was fairly proud.

"I managed to go out in public today. I kept getting pity from people, I hate it. I don't need pity," he whispered.

It was true, the pity from everyone drove him insane. He was led to believe that his best friend was a fake, it was all over the news and newspapers the day after Sherlock lept to his death. But John refused and denied it all. He knew Sherlock meant well, he was the best in John's eyes, he could never be a fake.

"I just wish you were here, then it wouldn't be so hard for me to not want to yell and throw a tantrum at every bloody pitied look I got," John spoke in annoyance.

The wind began to pick up, sending a shiver down John's spine as he pulled his jacket around him more. He stood up, grabbing his tin of biscuits as he placed his hand on Sherlock's headstone, wiping frost from it.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered, turning away before stopping.

'Tell him' he thought to himself. John sighed as he turned back to the grave, kneeling down as he placed his hand on it again.

"I know it's far too late to say this," he spoke. "But, I love you Sherlock, always have since the day we met. The women I went on dates with were merely a distraction because I knew you were married to your work. Nor did you show any signs of being the slightest bit gay," John chuckled. "But, just know I cared, more than you knew," he continued.

John stood again as he turned away once again and took the pathway which led him out of the cemetery. He sniffled as he coughed back a tear, slipping his hands in his pockets as he started to make his journey back to the flat. He fancied a nice cuppa and a book in front of the warm fire.

Meanwhile, Sherlock stood just a few yards from the cemetery, watching his blogger walk alone in the streets of London. He slipped his collar up as he started to follow John. He'd had a plan set up in his head, he was sure it might work, yet if it didn't he may have to...

"Improvise," Sherlock hummed, slipping his hands in his Belstaff coat pockets.

He ducked his head as he saw John turn back, his eyebrow raising quizzically. 'Great' Sherlock thought. 'I look like some kind of stalker' he told himself. The detective noticed John's pace had quickened slightly, making Sherlock pick up the pace also. John had turned again, his brow furrowed as he started to break into a run, even with his limp bothering him.

"Dammit John," Sherlock cursed.

He too broke into a run as he went into a pursuit after John, his coat flying behind him, his breathing quickening as the cold wind whipped past him. John and Sherlock's feed thudded against the pavement as the chase turned down a small street. Sherlock saw a small alleyway and ran up it, turning right before running to the end of the alley. He poked his head out slightly, just as John ran past. Sherlock grabbed him by the collar quickly, pulling him into the alleyway as he pushed him against the wall, his hand clasped over John's mouth.

"Help!" John yelled into his hand, his eyes closed tightly.

"John," Sherlock spoke.

John stopped squirming as he opened his eyes, staring into the blue orbs that belonged to his apparent 'deceased' best friend. John moved Sherlock's hand away as he pushed him away, a gasp leaving his lips as the feel of Sherlock's coat seemed all too real.

"You're not here, you're dead. I'm honestly going mad now. You're-" John paused.

"Not, dead," Sherlock replied quietly.

John's eyes watered slightly as he let out a shuddered gasp.

"Two years Sherlock...two bloody years," John whispered.

"I know John, but let me explain," Sherlock answered.

"Two years Sherlock! Do you have any idea what you've done! I mourned for you, for two years yet here you are, alive. Why?" he choked as a tear slid down his face.

"I had my reasons John, I'm sorry," Sherlock replied, not even making eye contact with John at all.

"Who knew?" John asked.

"What?" Sherlock replied.

"Who knew that you weren't dead!" the disgruntled doctor yelled.

"Molly," the detective answered.

"Molly?" John gasped.

"And Mycroft," Sherlock added.

"You bastard, you absolute bastard!" John roared.

"I kept all your flowers," Sherlock replied.

John's face creased up in rage as he yelled, bringing his arm up as the tin of biscuits collided with Sherlock's face.

* * *

"Was that honestly necessary John?" Sherlock asked gruffly, holding a tissue under his nose.

"Yes it was you idiot, it's not broken so stop complaining," John snapped, looking out the cab window.

After Sherlock had come back to his senses after being whalloped on the nose by John, the pair caught a cab back to Baker Street, so not to raise suspicion as Sherlock had to lay low for a little while longer. Sherlock sighed as they sat in silence before the cab pulled up at 221B Sherlock looked out at the old flat, a small smile on his lips, it was as if he'd never left. Someone knocked on the window and Sherlock noticed it was John, frowning at him as usual.

"Hurry up," he ordered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the cab and walked over to the door with John. He wiped the rest of the blood from his nose before disposing of the tissue as John unlocked the door to the flat.

"Welcome home Jo-" Mrs Hudson stopped abruptly.

Her eyes darted to John, then Sherlock, widening slightly.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed.

"Hello Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replied.

"How!" she yelled, stunned.

"For another time Mrs Hudson, I have to speak with John," he responded.

"Alright love," Mrs Hudson replied, with an understanding nod.

John stormed up the stairs as Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson a quick hug and a brief explanation before he followed John upstairs. John threw his jacket to the side as he went into the kitchen, clattering about with cups and the kettle. Sherlock peered around the corner, shrugging his coat and scarf off.

"Cuppa would be nice, thanks John," he spoke, putting his coat and scarf over the couch.

"Make it your bloody self," John retaliated with a huff.

Sherlock sighed as he lent against the couch, crossing his arms.

"I said I was sorry John," he mumbled.

"Sherlock," John growled. "Sorry is not even good enough right now. Two years I spent stuck in this bloody flat. I cried for you Sherlock. Bloody hell, I've even lost weight because I lost my appetite when I thought of you!" John continued with a yell. "I...I wanted to die, Sherlock," he wavered, gripping onto the counter as tears fell down his face.

"John," Sherlock whispered, now standing in front of John.

John looked up as more tears spilled down his cheeks. Sherlock felt his heart thud in his chest as he looked at his dear friend. He'd obviously been hurting the most out of everyone.

"John, I really am sorry," Sherlock whispered.

"Please Sherlock, don't," John sobbed.

Sherlock stared at his friend before his sentiment wall cracked again. The detective wrapped his arms around his blogger, pulling him into his chest. John tensed for a moment, before his arms slowly slipped around Sherlock, gripping his shirt.

"Don't leave me again," he threatened.

"No John, never, I'm right here," Sherlock whispered, resting his chin on John's head.

John sniffled as he held Sherlock tighter, letting all of his emotions come down on top of him at once.

_"I would never leave you, John Watson..." _

* * *

**A/N: Here we are, the first chapter. I hope it's alright for everyone who reads it. If you're wondering about the violin part, I was going to drop an F bomb in there. However, I got crafty and ended up having John finish the sentence with a not so course word. It seems fun doing those sorts of things. Feedback would be lovely. Adios.**


	4. Chapter 2 - The Rhythm Is Right

_"Interesting thing a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters." - Sherlock - The Empty Hearse_

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes as he gazed at the ceiling, his fingertips placed under his chin. He'd woken early in the morning to play his violin, only to notice an extremely large crack on the body of it. It took all of his energy not to curse and throw a tantrum, yet for the first time in so long, he had shed but a simple tear.

Sherlock was beyond upset, he wanted to wake John and demand what happened, but he could not interrupt John's peaceful sleep. The doctor had not slept in days, it was only fair that he let his poor friend rest. However, he was not a friend right now. The consulting detective had ended up calling him a...

"Carless, idiotic, clumsy, barbarous, bloody stupid bastard," Sherlock cursed.

He sat upright before swinging his legs off the couch and began pacing around the room. What was he going to say to John? He can't be too hard on him, yet he felt like he had to. He did break his bloody violin after all. Sherlock grumbled as he went over to John's laptop and opened it up. His eyes scanned over several blogs John had written over the two years that Sherlock had been away. A specific one caught his eye as he clicked on it to open the entire blog.

_**'Bollocks. Arse it. I've Done Something Bad.' by John H. Watson**___

Sherlock could not help but laugh slightly at the title. He had thought about ignoring it, yet curiosity got the better of him. He began to read aloud, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I've broken Sherlock's bloody violin, I'm such an idiot. I'm not going to replace it, for obvious reasons. Part of me is glad he isn't here because I know he'd be bloody yelling at me. He was an absolute cock when it came to things like that. I still bloody well miss him though. I'm sorry I broke it Sherlock. Hopefully you can forgive me if you can hear me when I tell you. I'll be seeing you this afternoon, despite how much I bloody hate that cemetery," Sherlock spoke.

But John could have told him now, so why didn't he? Sherlock closed his eyes clenching his fists as he let out a loud sigh.

"Sherlock," a voice spoke, a yawn followed afterwards.

Sherlock raised his head before turning his gaze to meet a sleepy John, his eye twitching slightly. John raised his eyebrow as he wrapped his robe around himself, tying the knot in place.

"Everything alright Sherlock?" he asked, with slight worry.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock mumbled.

"Tell you what?" John questioned.

"Oh do wake up John, you know what I bloody mean!" Sherlock exclaimed, his voice raised.

John stood motionless before he looked over at the window, noticing the violin had moved. He had also noticed the tab that was open on his laptop, which Sherlock was using. His face faltered as he closed his eyes before he spoke.

"Look, Sherlock I'm really sorry," he muttered, opening his eyes again.

"Sorry?" Sherlock questioned. "Oh you're sorry, how bloody brilliant, marvellous. Why didn't you bloody tell me John!" he yelled, raising from his seat. "I thought I was your best friend John, don't we need to share these certain things to each other and discuss them?" he asked with a low whisper.

"W-we are best friends," John wavered.

"What kind of a best friend deems me an absolute cock when I get angry at things? Yes, that's right John, I read all the way down to that part on the blog. I also read the part about how you were partially glad I wasn't here!" Sherlock spat as he slammed the laptop shut.

"Sherlock, please don't yell," John pleaded.

"I'll do what I want!" Sherlock roared, his nostrils flaring in rage.

John stared at Sherlock, noticing that the detective's eyes were slightly watery. It was obvious he was upset and John had to fix it somehow.

"I'll buy you a new one," he mumbled.

Sherlock turned as he glared at John, his jaw clenching tightly.

"You don't simply buy a new one John, you clearly do not understand at all," he huffed.

"Well I can try," John snapped.

There was silence as Sherlock shook his head.

"Get out," he whispered.

"What?" John wavered.

"I said get out! Go on! Get out of my sight, go and bloody well take a walk, do the shopping. Go look at dead bodies at St. Barts. Just, get out of my hair you fool!" Sherlock yelled, dropping down into his chair, his fingertips resting on his mouth.

John's mouth lay a gap before he turned and ran up to his room. His eyes started to water but he shook it off as he grabbed some clothes out his dresser. John slipped the clothes on quickly before going back downstairs to grab his jacket as it was a little chilly outside.

"Sherlock," he whispered, picking up his jacket.

"Go away, John," the detective replied in a monotone.

John sighed, shrugging his jacket on before walking down the stairs and out into the freezing rain that had started only minutes ago. The doctor groaned as he flagged down a cab, getting inside as he told the cabbie to take him to the music shop. He was going to buy Sherlock a new violin whether he bloody liked it or not. John's phone beeped as he pulled it from his pocket and gazed at the screen.

**_'We need more milk' - SH_**

John grumbled as he put the phone away, staring out the window as he passed by shops and people frantically running to get to shelter from the pouring rain. His morning couldn't have been any worse. All he wanted was a nice cuppa yet Sherlock took that right out from under him by being an...

"Absolute cock," John huffed.

He couldn't wait to get home and give Sherlock the gift, maybe his attitude would change. Would it really?

* * *

After hours and hours of searching, John had finally found the perfect one. It was black in colour with a silver neck and finger board, silver F-holes and a black chin rest. Sherlock's last one was a shiny chestnut colour yet John thought this might suit him better. He had no knowledge on violins, yet his gut went with this specific one.

The case he had bought it in was also black, where he had Sherlock's name etched into it. The shop assistant questioned it, seeing as Sherlock had to lay low for a while. John simply replied that he'd damaged Sherlock's old one and hated the empty space where it used to be in the flat. He'd only merely slipped out of suspicion, relief washing over him.

"John!" a gentle feminine voice called.

John stopped in his tracks as he turned around and saw Mary Morstan walking toward him.

"Oh, hello Mary," he chimed, with a small smile.

"Well you look rather happy," she replied, stopping in front of the army doctor.

"Just, had a decent sleep that's all," John muttered, trying to hide the violin case.

"What's that?' Mary questioned, raising an eyebrow.

'Bollocks' John thought.

"I cracked Sherlock's violin and bought another," he mused, looking away.

Mary let out a slight laugh.

"John, he's...not here anymore, you didn't have to go and replace it," she hummed.

"Of course I bloody did, it felt empty in the apartment!" John exclaimed with a huff.

Mary was silent for a moment before her brow creased.

"He's alive isn't he?" she questioned.

"I beg your pardon?" John replied.

"He's alive! I bloody knew it!" she yelled.

"Mary! Be quiet, stop yelling!" John hissed.

"But John, does he have any idea what he has done?" Mary muttered.

"That's not on my mind, he's back and that's all that matters. Now don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone Mary, I'm begging you," John warned.

"Why not?" Mary asked with a frown.

"Because, just-" John grumbled. "Oh sod it!" he yelled. "I don't know, he hasn't exactly told me yet. Just, please, not a word," he huffed, looking away from Mary again.

"I'm guessing you two argued. But, alright, not a peep. I better head off now. Are we still having dinner tonight?" Mary questioned, with a small smile.

'No I'd rather not' John thought.

"Yes Mary," John answered.

'Dammit John' he cursed to himself.

"Wonderful, see you later then," she chirped, giving John a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

John rolled his eyes and shoved his hand in his pocket as he continued to walk back to the flat. Mary wanted to be more than friends with John, yet he could not give her that. He was in love with Sherlock, even though he had no clue John was gay or that he had feelings for the high-functioning sociopath.

John had wanted to say something, but knew it may just lead to trouble, or a broken heart. He sighed as he finally reached 221B, unlocking the door before stepping inside. His eyes roamed around the dull foyer of the flat, he'd always thought of mentioning a paint job, but figured Mrs Hudson preferred it the way it was.

"Hello John," Mrs Hudson spoke, appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Afternoon Mrs Hudson," John replied.

"I was just up seeing Sherlock. He's awfully upset about his violin. Where have you been dear?" she asked.

"We needed more milk and well, I also bought Sherlock a gift," John mumbled.

"Oh, what is it?" Mrs Hudson questioned, coming down to the bottom of the stairs.

John flicked the clips on the case, opening it fully as Mrs Hudson's eyes widened.

"John! That must have cost a fortune!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, well, anything for Sherlock," John muttered.

Mrs Hudson smiled slightly as John closed the case again, picking it up.

"I'll leave you to it dear," she chuckled before heading into her place, closing the door behind her.

John took a deep breath as he made his way upstairs. He heard the faint sound of classical music from the room, knowing it was Sherlock's iPod paying it. He walked into the room, noticing Sherlock was still in his seat, yet changed, eyes closed and fingertips placed under his chin.

"Sherlock," John spoke.

Sherlock ignored him, John's brow creasing slightly. He noticed he had his purple shirt on, the one everyone liked to call 'The Purple Shirt of Sex' because it looked absolutely fantastic on Sherlock. John suddenly blushed slightly as he looked at Sherlock in his shirt. He shook his head as he turned the music off, seeing Sherlock's eyes snap open. His gaze met John's, his eyes creasing along with his brow.

"John, why did you switch the music o-" he paused, standing from his seat as he noticed the case placed beside John. "What is that?" he questioned.

"Open it and see," John replied, taking his jacket off as he left to put it away.

Sherlock huffed as he walked over where John had stood and grabbed the case, placing it on his chair as he flicked the clips up. He pulled the case open, his eyes widening slightly, jaw clenched.

"J-John," he stammered.

"Yes Sherlock?" John replied, appearing back in the lounge with two cuppa's.

"Did you buy this?" Sherlock questioned, turning to meet John's gaze.

"So what if I did?" John said with a shrug.

"I-" Sherlock faltered as he looked away. "I love it John, it's remarkably stunning," he mumbled.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," John replied half-heartedly.

"I'm being serious John," Sherlock huffed, taking the violin out of its case and turning it in his hands.

John looked up from the newspaper as he watched Sherlock eye the instrument before him. He got so caught up in the moment he nearly spilled the tea on himself.

"John, thank you," Sherlock spoke, placing the violin back in the case.

John sat in his chair, stunned at how Sherlock just openly thanked him. Maybe his attitude had changed. Sherlock sighed loudly as he sat in his chair, crossing one slender leg over the other.

"I apologise for yelling. It's not your fault. You were hurting, because of me, because you missed me. Because..." Sherlock paused, before suddenly placing his hand on John's knee.

John's face faltered as he tried to hide the blush that was spreading on his cheeks.

"John, I will tell you everything. Every last detail as to how I survived the fall, why I left for two years, why I can't go out right now. Would that be alright?" the high-functioning sociopath asked.

"Sherlock, of course," John replied, Sherlock's hand slipping from his knee.

"Very well, sit back and listen, there's a lot to know," Sherlock answered.

John nodded as he sat back in his chair, his eyes fixated on Sherlock as he bgan to tell the tale. Yet John simply could not listen, he was far too distracted, far too distracted by, Sherlock. Everything was a mystery.

* * *

By the time Sherlock had finished telling John everything about the fall and his time away, it was dark outside. John had ended up in tears again halfway through the story, everything about it was too much for him to handle. Sherlock had basically risked his life to save those who were most important to him.

He'd spent all his time in hiding, just waiting. Waiting for that day the last of Moriarty's men was gone so that he could come home. The detective looked over at John, his eyes slightly glazed over at seeing his best friend in the way that he was.

"John, I am so sorry," he whispered.

"No Sherlock," John choked as he wiped a tear away. "You're here now, alive, and that's all that matters," he continued, sitting forward in his chair.

Sherlock sat forward as he grabbed John's hand, resting the other over it. John's eyes darted to Sherlock's as the pair stared at each other, longer than three seconds, longer than seven seconds, more like a minute.

Love?

"John," Sherlock spoke.

"Hm? Sorry," John wavered, his hand still held in Sherlock's.

The detective had never been this openly affectionate to anyone before. Would it be classed as affection? His mind wandered as his gaze fell from John's. It was far too easy to tell that Sherlock's time away had clearly sparked some certain feelings in his mind, and heart. Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly as he let go of John's hand and stood up.

"Don't you have to be somewhere shortly?" he questioned, his back turned to John.

"Pardon?" John asked.

"I saw you earlier today, talking to a woman," Sherlock replied, gazing out the window.

"Oh right, Mary, yes she's a friend of mine. We're catching up for dinner," John mumbled.

"Just, friends?" Sherlock questioned in a low monotone, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes Sherlock because I lo-uh, loathe the fact that I haven't been out for a decent meal in a while," the doctor chuckled nervously.

Sherlock turned around slightly, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Why not have dinner here? We can have a decent meal can't we?" Sherlock questioned.

"Really Sherlock, it'd be nice to get out of this flat, I probably won't be long anyway," John answered.

"Then let me come with you," Sherlock replied with a small smile.

"No, no way, absolutely not, you're supposed to be in hiding Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock's smile faltered as his lips fell into a thin line. He didn't know whether to feel slightly disappointed with John's reaction or to agree to it. Did John fancy Mary? Sherlock turned away, his eyes wandering aimlessly.

"Just go John," he murmured, taking his new violin out its case.

"Sherlock," John sighed.

Sherlock ignored him as he began to play a sad and sombre tune, rain starting to patter on the window. John huffed briefly as he went upstairs and quickly changed, before treading back downstairs. Sherlock was still by the window, playing the same tune over and over as he heard the stairs creak. He smirked slightly as he stopped playing after the door clicked shut. He peered out the window as he saw John flagging down a cab.

"Time to play a little game, John," he hummed, jogging upstairs to get his coat and scarf.

He stopped abruptly and frowned.

"No, this simply won't do, I need a disguise," he grumbled, looking around his room.

Sherlock went downstairs and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door, placing his hands in his pockets.

"Oh Sherlock, what is it dear?" she asked, opening the door wider.

"Have you got an eyebrow or eye pencil perhaps, Mrs Hudson?" he asked, earning a raised eyebrow from Mrs Hudson. "Experiment," he added with a grin.

* * *

**_(Scene is slightly based off 'The Empty Hearse' mainly just Sherlock's disguise, and the whole Mary and John sitting at a table thing. Yet it takes a different turn obviously)._**

Sherlock stepped out of the cab slipping a pair of glasses onto his face and fixing the bow tie he nicked from a passer by before he caught a cab. His disguise had worked fairly well, apart from the horribly drawn on moustache and horrible looking glasses, that didn't suit the detective at all.

"Keep the change," he replied to the cabbie before fixing his suit up a little.

He looked up at the restuarant awning and creased his brow.

"Bit expensive for just friends," he muttered in a monotone.

Sherlock sighed as he followed behind some customers, making his way over to a table he had reserved. His eyes scanned their way around the room as he tried to search for John.

"Oh John!" a feminine voice chuckled loudly.

The detective looked to his right, catching sight of John as he straightened up in his seat. Who he assumed was Mary, short blonde hair, dolled up in a lilac dress and loads of sparkling jewelery had her hand clasped on John's. He had not noticed much of her earlier when he saw them outside the flat as she had a hat on, plus her back was turned. Sherlock suddenly felt a strange feeling hitting him in the chest as he swallowed the lump in his throat, turning his gaze away from the pair.

"What was that?" he questioned.

"Jealousy," a voice in his head whispered.

"Shut up," he growled, turning back to look at his favourite blogger and best friend.

He watched closely as Mary's hand gripped a little tighter, another pang of jealous hitting him.

"Stop it Sherlock," he cursed to himself, fiddling with the unlit candle on the table.

Suddenly, the music started playing a little louder than usual. The band that were there, for a slight change in atmosphere, began to play a slow rock ballad, some diners getting up to dance. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow before glancing back at John.

"Excellent," he whispered.

The detective rose from his seat as he strod past a few tables, picking up a stray orchid as he placed it into his pocket.

"Shall we have a dance John?" Mary spoke.

"Maybe later," John replied a little too uncomfortably, shifting in his seat.

Sherlock smirked as he got nearer to the table.

"What if it was me who asked?" he questioned in a slight baritone.

"Oh gosh," Mary gasped. "He really is alive," she whispered.

Sherlock glared at her, before looking back at John.

"How did she know I was alive?" he hissed quietly.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, she sort of guessed," John muttered, looking up at Sherlock. "What are you doing here anyways?" he asked.

"Taking you dancing," Sherlock replied, grabbing John by the arm. "Excuse us," he chimed to Mary, giving her a small smirk.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"Don't call me Sherlock, call me something else. It'll lower suspicion," Sherlock mumbled, as he stopped on the wooden floor that was set up for dancing.

"Sherlock don't be ridi-" John paused as he felt Sherlock's hand rest on his lower back, glaring at the detective.

"Do not question it, just dance," Sherlock whispered.

John felt the heat rise up his neck as he placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, the other gently rested in his hand.

"People will talk Sherlock," he muttered.

"Not when we're moving too fast for them to notice. And stop calling me Sherlock for god's sake, you're not good at covering up for me," the detective hummed.

"Well what do you want me to bloody call you? Bloody Thor or something else ridiculous?" John snorted.

"Hm, I much preferred that Loki fellow in The Avengers film, call me that," Sherlock replied with a smug grin.

"Alright, Loki," John answered, stifling a laugh.

The pair erupted into laughter, their hands still clasped together, bodies fairly close. The tempo of the music changed as Sherlock suddenly started moving, John clumsly following.

"Fancy a little Cha Cha Cha?" he asked with a slight accent.

John laughed as they spun around the dance floor, their feet now moving in time with each other's. Sherlock grinned as he spun John outward, before bringing him back in, dipping him back.

"Jesus Christ," John gasped as he was pulled back up.

They began gliding along the floor again, Sherlock's eyes fixated on John's.

"Always look at your partner in the eye John," he mused with a small wink.

"I didn't even know you could dance," John scoffed, being spun out again.

"Oh I did learn things while I was away John," Sherlock replied, pulling the army doctor back in.

John blushed slightly as he was a little closer to Sherlock this time, suddenly being pushed back as they followed in time with each other, eyes still fixated on each other's. Sherlock moved away from John as he started to improvise, swaying his hips slightly as John let out a laugh, joining in also before they joined together again. Just as the music stopped, Sherlock dipped John down again, the crowd around them cheering and clapping loudly.

"People saw us Sherlock," John whispered.

"Ah, that's Loki, thank you," Sherlock reminded John, with a wink, lifting him back up. "Let's get out of here shall we?" he questioned.

"Oh god yes," John replied, leaving to grab his suit coat.

Sherlock followed as Mary looked up, a small smile on her face.

"Have fun?" she asked.

"Absolutely, now, we really must be off Miss Morstan, have a lovely evening, here's money for a cab, goodnight to you my dear," Sherlock replied, placing money on the table.

John said goodbye to Mary as he caught up with Sherlock. The pair of them ran down the street, stopping in a small alleyway as they stood, hunched over and out of breath.

"Well that was rather amusing," John chuckled.

Sherlock let out a laugh as he lent against the wall, John close beside him. The laughter died down as they looked at each other. The stare seemed to continued for a rather long time, just like that moment back at the flat, John leaning against Sherlock slightly. What looked like an apparent 'just snog already' moment, was interrupted by Sherlock clearing his throat as he looked away, placing his hands in his pockets.

"I suppose we should go home now," he mumbled.

John looked up as the lamp light shone down on Sherlock's features, making his heart pound slightly. If he only he could tell him, but he wouldn't. He knew of Sherlock's low sentimental attributes and his usual 'married to my work' phrase. It drove the army doctor absolutely mad.

"Fancy grabbing a take out on the way back? I'm starving," John huffed.

A low throaty chuckle emitted from Sherlock as he faced John.

"Very well, let's go before we bloody freeze," he replied as he began to walk.

John followed shortly after, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You're an exceptional dancer by the way," Sherlock spoke.

"Oh shut up...Loki," John replied with a smirk.

There was brief silence before Sherlock snorted loudly, John following after as they walked down the street together in fits of laughter and snorts. If only Sherlock knew. If only John knew.

* * *

**A/N: Thought I'd update this one tonight :) Little bit of flirting going on there with Sherlock ;) yet they still won't say anything -rolls eyes- ah well. Hope you enjoy! Title is from Slow Ride by Foghat. **


	5. Chapter 3 - Land O' The Shining River

**A/N: Few handy hints about some items in the beginning. Ghille brogues are Scottish shoes worn with traditional dress. A sporran is a pouch, seeing as kilts have no pockets. CARRY ON!**

* * *

_**" I knew it was dangerous." - John Watson - The Great Game**_

* * *

"Sherlock honestly, I give up," John groaned, resting his head on the back of his chair.

"John I gave you three perfectly sufficient clues, have you lost your touch?" he teased from inside the kitchen.

John rolled his eyes as he gazed at the clues in front of him. Apparently the pair of them were going on a secret case, at least that's the porky that Sherlock told his dear friend. The previous night made the consulting detective change a little. He'd quite enjoyed dancing with John, it was afterwards that confused him entirely. His brain was yelling 'Kiss him' repeatedly, but he held himself back, much to John's disappointment.

"I give up, can you please give me a bigger clue?" John mumbled as he went to turn around.

"Don't you dare turn around!" Sherlock threatened.

The army doctor laughed as he turned back, twiddling his thumbs slightly.

"A strange purple and green spikey plant, a photo of an odd looking animal and a phrase from a song is hardly helping at all," he hummed, leaning forward in his chair.

There was a brief silence before John heard Sherlock disappear upstairs. He rolled his eyes as he lent back in his chair.

"Where the bloody hell is it!" Sherlock yelled.

John raised an eyebrow with a slight chuckle as he shook his head. He picked up a book he was reading, scanning over the pages with a content look on his face. He heard a yell, followed by a thud, then a groan.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" he called.

"Fine John, I'm fine!" Sherlock replied.

John chuckled again as he went back to his book. Footsteps crept down the stairs as he rose his head slightly. He didn't dare look just in case his dear friend lectured him again.

"Would this help perhaps?" Sherlock questioned.

John turned his gaze to Sherlock, his breath suddenly catching in his throat. Before him, Sherlock stood formally in a kilt with the Royal Stewart tartan, a leather belt buckle on one side with the sporran on the front, a white short sleeved shirt with a black waistcoat over it. And of course the mid length white socks and ghille brogues.

"Sherlock," John snorted. "You look um, rather dapper," he added, trying to hold in his laughter.

"Oh please John, you love the look," Sherlock taunted. "Now, any ideas yet?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh I don't know, Ireland?" John snickered.

Sherlock pulled a poker face before sighing, folding his arms over his chest.

"I really must educate you. Think again," the detective ordered.

"Scotland?" John asked.

"Aye! Well done laddie!" Sherlock yelled in a broken Scottish accent, pulling a heroic pose.

John burst into fits of laughter, clutching his sides as his book fell out of his hands. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes as he sat down in his chair. John had finally calmed down by then, wiping tears from his eyes.

"That, Sherlock was horrible, you need to work on that," he chuckled, picking his book up from the floor.

"How aboot this then?" Sherlock replied.

"Much better," John mused with a smirk.

Sherlock gave him one of his lopsided smiles, crossing his leg over the other.

"So the case is in Scotland?" John queried.

"Of course John, otherwise I wouldn't have dressed like this," Sherlock scoffed, uncrossing his legs.

"Um Sherlock legs!" John yelled, averting his eyes.

"Opps, sorry I completely forgot," Sherlock replied with a slight blush on his face.

"Is that really necessary?" John asked.

"Oh come now John, it's tradition," the detective replied, standing up again.

John laughed as he sat his book aside and studied Sherlock from a far. Sherlock stood facing the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Well as long as I'm not bloody wearing one," John mumbled.

"Yes, about that, I got you one too. It's a very nice kilt, navy blue in colour. I think it will look rather fetching on you," Sherlock answered with a smirk.

"Are you flirting with me Sherlock Holmes?" John joked.

"I might be," Sherlock teased, sending John a wink.

The doctor flushed a deep shade of red as he stood up from his seat. He pondered around the room before stopping beside Sherlock.

"If I wear the kilt can I at least keep it untraditional and wear underwear?" John muttered, side glancing at Sherlock.

The sociopath was silent before he lent sideways, his mouth fairly close to John's ear.

"Absolutely not, it's Scottish tradition and you will follow it properly," he whispered before returning to his seat.

John shuddered slightly, his eyes closing gently as he tried not to blush any harder.

"I swear to god, I'll kill you Sherlock Holmes," he grumbled.

"Oh please, killing me? That's so two years ago John," Sherlock replied.

John looked over at Sherlock as the pair grinned, before going into fits of laughter.

"You absolute cock," John snickered.

"You missed me," Sherlock chuckled, averting his gaze as he went into his mind palace.

"Yes, far too much," John whispered, looking out the window.

If only he could tell him how he truly felt. Could he hold it back any longer?

* * *

"John! There's people outside the flat!" Mrs Hudson called from downstairs.

John groaned as he got up from his seat, walking over to the window as he peered outside. His eyes widened as he saw a large group of reporters and camera crew outside.

"What on earth?" he whispered, his brow suddenly creasing. "Mary," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Why were they here so late at night? He moved away from the window as he grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. Footsteps thumped upstairs as Mrs Hudson appeared in the room.

"John what is going on? Where's Sherlock?" she asked worriedly.

"Sorry Mrs Hudson, I've got to run, Sherlock needs me," John replied, grabbing his phone out his pocket.

"Why?" Mrs Hudson questioned.

"Just a moment," John snapped, typing away at a message.

_**'Do not come home. Loads of media outside' - JW**_

John put his phone away as he left the room, walking down the stairs.

"John!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

John stopped as he turned around, still holding onto the banister.

"Mrs Hudson, there is a tonne of media outside because my friend Mary guessed that Sherlock was alive. I told her not to say a word, yet seeing as Sherlock and I sort of left her on her own last night we must have pissed her off. Now, I can't let Sherlock get caught in this crowd, it's not time for him to reveal himself yet," John explained irritably.

"Well go on then, go help him, I will try keep them away," she replied, following John.

John nodded as he walked over to the front door, his phone beeping as he pulled it out.

_**'But I am on my way home' - SH**_

"Shit," John cursed, swinging the door open.

Bright flashes and shouting surrounded John as he pushed through the swarm of people. He'd felt someone grab his arm yet he shook them off as he rallied through more reporters and cameramen. They were yelling his name loudly, questions flying in all directions.

"Bloody hell he's not here go away!" John yelled as he broke free from the crowd.

The army doctor broke into a run, hearing the shouts more distant the further away he got. It wasn't until he heard footsteps that he knew some of them were hot on his tail.

"John!" a voice yelled. "John!" it came again.

John turned his head just in time to see Sherlock run out from behind a building.

"Sherlock what are you doing!" John roared.

The detective had caught up to him, running by his side, coat flying back at a rapid speed.

"Take my hand!" he ordered.

"What?" John replied, his legs beginning to ache.

"Just do it!" Sherlock roared, holding his pale hand out.

John clasped his hand around Sherlock's as they suddenly turned right, racing down a narrow street, the shouts getting far too close for John's liking. He could hear the laboured breathing and huffing leaving Sherlock's nostrils as they ran down another street before turning into an alleyway.

"Stay quiet John," Sherlock warned.

The detective and army doctor hid behind a dumpster, their backs against a metal roller door, their hands still gripped tightly to one another's. John gave out long pants of exhaustion as he watched some reporters and cameramen run right past them, a sigh of relief leaving his lips, the street light shining on them dimly.

"Well that was certainly close," he whispered.

Sherlock rested his head against the door, shaking his head as he tried to calm the anger that was raging inside. His hand slipped from John's as he ran his other hand through his wind swept curls.

"How did this happen John?" he questioned with slight aggravation in his tone.

"Mary," John sighed.

"Oh, your little lady friend, how wonderful! Was she jealous last night or something John? Hm? Or just a terrible liar?" Sherlock spat, as he glared at John.

"I don't know Sherlock! She promised me not a peep yet it seems something must have set her off to do such a thing!" John yelled.

"Oh right, because she's such a trustworthy friend John!" Sherlock exclaimed, his hands clasped tightly together.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't know this would bloody happen! What do you want me to do? Time travel?" he asked sarcastically.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he looked away from his blogger.

"You have no idea what you have done John," he muttered.

"Me? Oh so it's my fault then is it! Well I wasn't the one who bloody faked his death, left his best friend to grieve for two years and then come back, still with the same arrogant attitude you always had you arsehole!" John roared.

Sherlock yelled in rage as he gripped John by the collar, balling his fists as he glared into John's shocked blue eyes.

"I bloody explained everything to you John! Everything!" he spat. "Yet you're still blaming me for all the hurt I caused you. It's time to put that pa-" Sherlock stopped at John's sudden widening of the eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes!" mixed voices yelled.

"No," Sherlock hissed, a flash suddenly blinding him.

He let go of John's jacket as he glared at him.

"John punch me in the face," he ordered.

"What? Sherlock no!" John yelled.

"Just do it!" the detective roared, footsteps getting closer.

"No," John protested.

Sherlock groaned as he threw his arms about before stopping quickly.

"Your mother is a saggy old sow," he muttered.

John's jaw dropped, brow furrowing as he swung his arm back, punching Sherlock with such force it knocked him out cold.

"Bollocks," John whispered, crouching beside his best friend.

* * *

_***Beep* *Beep***_

Sherlock groaned quietly, his head and nose throbbing aggressively. He pried his eyes open as the light blinded him slightly, a hiss leaving his lips.

"Sherlock?" a voice boomed in his head.

"John? Don't talk so loud," he grumbled.

"I'm not," John laughed, moving the chair closer to Sherlock.

"Well to me you're talking far too loud," Sherlock huffed.

John shook his head as he saw those bright blue-green orbs come into view. His heart swelled slightly and he frowned, trying to stop it from doing that. But how could he when every time he looked at Sherlock the feeling got stronger.

"Did we get away last night?" the detective asked.

"Sadly not, we're on the front of the paper, look," John replied, holding the newspaper up for Sherlock.

Sherlock whined slightly as he gazed at the headline before him.

_**'SHERLOCK HOLMES ALIVE? THE DETECTIVE AND HIS DOCTOR TOGETHER? DOMESTIC DISPUTE?'**_

He looked at the two photos underneath, his breath catching in his throat. They'd captured one of himself and John running down the street, their hands visibly seen held together. The other was Sherlock, gripping John's collar, his face fairly close to John's. Sherlock looked away as he sighed, a sharp pain shooting up his nose.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, holding his nose.

"Sorry Sherlock, I badly bruised it, and gave you a concussion. But you're getting let out today," John replied.

"And what about the media?" Sherlock asked.

"Taken care of, courtesy of Mycroft," John hummed.

"Oh, he didn't have them shot did he?" the detective sarcastically replied.

"No Sherlock," John muttered, shifting in his seat.

"What about our trip?" Sherlock mused, looking at John.

"We leave this afternoon," he answered. "I've got our stuff packed, so when you get discharged this afternoon we can leave straight away," he added.

Sherlock smiled softly, his hand extending out to John. The doctor raised his eyebrow, receiving a nod from Sherlock. John rested his hand on Sherlock's as the detective grasped it gently.

"Thank you John," he whispered with a slight yawn. "I am sorry for last night. You always do look after me," he added.

"Anything for you, Sherlock Holmes," John replied with a small half smile.

"John I-hmm," Sherlock hummed, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Sherlock?" John asked, quirking an eyebrow.

He soon heard the soft snores from Sherlock, a small chuckle leaving his lips as he looked down at their hands. A blush crept along John's face before he moved his hand up to brush some curls from Sherlock's face.

"If only you knew," he sighed.

John let go of Sherlock's hand before standing up as he grabbed his jacket.

"I'll see you this afternoon Sherlock," he whispered.

He walked over to the door, turning back to look at Sherlock, noticing how lovely he looked when he slept. John smirked as he opened the door and left quietly.

"John, I think I love you," Sherlock mumbled in his sleep, a lopsided smile spreading on his face. Was that just the morphine talking?

* * *

John and Sherlock had arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland around 4pm. The sun was still up, but night was fast approaching.

"We look rather lovely in our kilts," Sherlock spoke as they stood by the baggage carrousel.

John scoffed as he fixed one of his socks, shaking his head slightly.

"I look ridiculous Sherlock, kilts aren't my thing obviously," he huffed.

"John, for the last bloody time, you look wonderful," Sherlock whispered.

"Stop flirting with me Sherlock," John grumbled.

"Sorry," Sherlock chuckled.

The army doctor knew it was all an act. I mean, Sherlock Holmes, gay? Quite ridiculous. At least, that's what John thought.

"So where exactly are we staying?" he questioned, before grabbing one of his suitcases.

"Surprise," Sherlock replied, grabbing his suitcase.

"Oh come on, that's not fair," John mumbled.

"I can be unfair to you, you put me in hospital," the detective teased.

"That was-" John paused. "That was an accident," he hissed.

"Still not telling," Sherlock hummed.

"You cock," John huffed.

"I know John, I know," Sherlock replied with a click of his tongue.

John's brow creased slightly before he looked away with a slight smirk on his face.

"Nice kilts fellas," a passer-by with a broad Scottish accent spoke.

Sherlock looked up as he gave the fellow a small smile and a nod. He turned to John, a lopsided smile still on his face.

"See John, he likes them," he chimed.

"Oh piss off," John laughed, grabbing his small backpack.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh god yes," John replied.

The detective nodded as he started to walk down the large corridors, John following behind him. He was surprised to see that the sun was actually out, brightening everything up, seeing as Scotland was know for its terrible weather.

"Ah, a bit of sun, how lovely," Sherlock mused.

"Do not jinx it Sherlock," John chuckled.

Sherlock smiled softly as they walked out of the airport, the sun beating down on them. He flagged down a cab as it pulled up to the side of the pavement.

"After you," Sherlock issued, opening the door for John.

"Well how gentlemanly of you, you certainly have changed a little since you've been away," John replied in a high pitch voice causing Sherlock to snort loudly.

"Where to lads?" the driver asked.

John smirked as he knew Sherlock would have to tell him. His smirk faded as Sherlock moved forward, handing the driver a piece of paper.

"My friend here isn't allowed to know," he replied with a grin.

"Righty-ho," the driver chimed as Sherlock sat back in his seat.

"You bastard," John muttered.

"I know," Sherlock replied, peering out the window

John rolled his eyes as he looked out the window also, looking at all the shops and buildings they passed. Suddenly he felt a cold hand on his knee and raised an eyebrow. He turned his gaze as he saw Sherlock's hand rested on his knee.

"Uh, Sherlock," he wavered, a blush creeping across his face.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he turned to look at John.

His blogger pointed downward, the detective's gaze moving south as he saw what was wrong.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry John," he whispered, moving his hand away.

"It's alright Sherlock," John replied with an apologetic smile.

Truth be told, Sherlock did it on purpose. He was testing his theories on John, to see whether things had changed with John. Sherlock started to suspect they hadn't. Although, John blushed at nearly everything the detective did, he simply determined it was an awkward blush and not a flustered one. Sherlock looked back out the window as the hotel came into view.

"Oh no bloody way. Sherlock are you serious!" John exclaimed.

A smile tugged at Sherlock's mouth as the cab stopped outside 'The Knight Residence' apartments, which were practically five star accommodation.

"How did you?" he asked. "I have my ways John," Sherlock hummed as he opened the door and stepped out.

"Mycroft," the doctor huffed.

John shook his head in disbelief as he stepped out also. He went to grab their bags while Sherlock paid the fare, giving the driver a tip for keeping quiet about the hotel. He walked over to John as both of them stood and looked at the building before them.

"Why such a fancy hotel for a case?" John questioned.

"What case?" Sherlock replied with a smirk as he walked up to the door, holding it open for his friend. "Come along John, reception closes early on a Friday," Sherlock pestered with a small frown.

John sighed as he shook his head with a small smile. Sherlock, still stubborn as usual. He grabbed the cases as he followed Sherlock inside.

"So there is no case? We're just here for no reason?" he asked.

"No John, we are here for a break, at least try to enjoy it," Sherlock sighed stubbornly.

"Arsehole," John huffed.

"I know," Sherlock mumbled, emphasising the 'W', as he walked to the reception desk.

God, could he love this stubborn, nuisance of a man anymore? Only time will tell.

* * *

After a rather expensive dinner, and a few drinks later, John and Sherlock retired to their room, seeing as it was late and that they would go exploring tomorrow. John sat on the couch, his legs out in front of him as he got stuck into a book he brought with him. Sherlock was in the other room, unpacking some of his things. He gave up finally as he sauntered out into the main room, looking over at John.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"Oh some mystery and romance novel," John hummed.

Romance novel?

"I never took you for the romantic type," Sherlock scoffed with a wave of his hand.

"Everyone has a romantic side, unless they're you I suppose," John mumbled, watching the detective pour another drink after having five during dinner.

"I beg yer bloody pardon?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Sherlock, your Scottish is showing," the army doctor chuckled, setting the book down for a moment.

"Sorry," the detective muttered.

"It's quite entertaining," John chortled, resting his hand behind his head.

"Oh really? Do go on," Sherlock mused with a low purr and a wink, swaying slightly.

"Sherlock," John laughed. "Are you drunk?" he asked.

"A-absolutely not John," Sherlock slurred.

"Okay, you are drunk. Sit down before you hurt yourself," John ordered.

"Fine," Sherlock whined, plopping himself on John's lap.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, rolling his eyes.

"Oh do shut up John," the sociopath murmured, resting his head on John's chest.

John felt the heat rising up to his face again. He and Sherlock were never this close, then again, Sherlock's a little bit out of it. The doctor huffed as he tried to move Sherlock, only to receive a protesting grunt.

"Sherlock, move," John huffed, poking his arm.

"Only if you ask nicely," Sherlock grumbled.

John rolled his eyes as he looked down at Sherlock.

"Please darling would you move," he issued.

Sherlock groaned as he moved off John's lap and parked his backside on the floor.

"I am not your darling!" he spat.

"You'd love to be," John muttered.

"I heard that!" Sherlock exclaimed, flicking the telly on.

"You were meant to you idiot!" John called from the other room.

"Hedgehog," Sherlock chuckled.

John raised an eyebrow as he peered out of the room.

"Did you just call me a bloody hedgehog?" he questioned.

"I might have," Sherlock huffed, leaning his head against the couch.

"Well you're an otter then," John muttered.

Sherlock groaned in annoyance as John came back into the room with a drink.

"Look who's getting drunk now," the detective laughed.

"It's not alcoholic Sherlock," John replied, sitting back on the couch.

"Well you're certainly no fun," Sherlock drawled, standing up.

"We'll have more drinks tomorrow," John answered.

Sherlock didn't reply as he sat on the couch, before tilting downward as his head rested in John's lap.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked, picking his book up again.

"Relaxing," Sherlock replied with a low yawn.

John had decided to give up on Sherlock's antics and just went along with it. He smoothed his hand through Sherlock's soft curls, reading his book as he heard the detective sigh briefly. Only a minute had passed before John heard the soft snores of Sherlock, a smile plastered on his face.

"Time for bed I suppose," he mumbled with a quick yawn.

John gently moved Sherlock's head as he stood up, replacing where he sat with a cushion before slipping into the bedroom and grabbing a blanket. He draped it over Sherlock, smiling slightly at the sight before him. He'd never seen Sherlock so...innocent? Fragile? John chuckled softly as he ran his hand through Sherlock's hair again before turning away.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," he whispered, flicking the light off as he disappeared into the bedroom, ready for a peaceful nights sleep, Sherlock's gentle snores putting him at ease.

_**"One day Sherlock, one day..."**_

* * *

**A/N: This chapter went from tense, to fluff, to more tension, then fluff again. I cannot hold all these Johnlock feels. Hope you enjoy. Title is from Scotland The Brave.**


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